Atticus
Honey-brown hair spilled across the pillow, tangled from hours of restless sleep. Darkness swelled outside, watching, waiting. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, shadowed crescent moons spilling spider’s legs across his skin in the dusty moonlight.
Behind closed eyelids, green eyes searched relentlessly for one thing: her. His heart ached, pulsing with need for a girl with brown eyes that saw beyond the mask he presented to everyone else. Her eyes were brown, but they shone with gold.
His fist crumpled the rumpled duvet. His chest rose and fell rapidly, breath catching in his throat.
He was in the garden again. Spring leaves formed an archway, a floating path that wound gracefully between the wide boughs of the trees. His feet followed it weightlessly. And, for once, his head felt empty, quiet, peaceful. His mind was gentle; she soothed it with every balmy smile and heavy-lidded gaze.
She pulled him closer, a steady tug on the magical string between them. Two hearts longed to collide. Birds sang. A lazy smile parted his lips.
She was waiting for him. His fingers stretched to meet her, bones and joints popping at the exertion. His arm pulled from its socket, and he screamed; still, he kept reaching. She had not moved, but he could not make his fingertips meet hers.
His heart tore. Acid ran through his veins. Shuddering, he woke.
“Lily,” he breathed, eyes staring blankly at his dimly lit bedroom. He unclenched his fists, hands aching from prolonged tension. His lips were dry, and his chest and throat were raw from shouting.
But his bodily pains paled compared to the agony of his heart. He pounded his flat palm against his chest, desperate to overshadow the memory of the bond shattering with real, physical injuries.
Blinking back tears, he threw off the last scrap of the duvet that covered him. He swallowed hard. He would not cry – least of all over a useless girl.
He had to be strong. He was a leader, a warrior, a champion. He was not weak and, to Atticus, crying was a weakness.
Leaning his forehead against the cool windowpane, he closed his eyes. The moonlight bathed his skin, painting the hard planes of his nose and cheeks silver. He shuddered. Breaking the bond had made him erratic and emotional. He had to pull himself together – now.
Lily had been gone for weeks. But neither time nor distance made his pain lessen, and he was – in the dark of night, alone and ashamed – beginning to wonder if, perhaps, he had made a mistake.
Though Lily herself was an embarrassment to her pack, severing the bond between them had ruined him. Sleeping through the night was a rare luxury since she had gone, and her departure haunted his dreams. He was short-tempered and often tearful, and rather than spending his evenings with Ralphin and Trove, or his family, he now preferred solitude. Alone, nobody could see the cracks beginning to show.
Digging his fingers into the bare skin of his chest, he imagined what it would feel like to rip his heart from between his ribs. Slumping and letting his hands drop to the windowsill, he realised that he already knew.
* * *
“Alpha Atticus,” said Leythan, his words muffled by his eager bow. He scrubbed a hand through short, textured dark hair, as though unable to contain his muscles.
“You may rise,” Atticus said, raising a stern eyebrow at the young spy. Griffin had sworn black and blue that Leythan could be trusted, that he was as good as any other pack spy, but he was so erratic and enthusiastic that Atticus wasn’t quite sure that he believed him.
Griffin was too busy chasing shadows to help with such a whim. The safety of his pack had to come first, no matter how dire this felt. For now, Leythan would have to do.
Leythan stood, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Atticus inhaled a long, slow breath.
“I need you to find someone for me,” he began, gesturing with a wide sweep of his hand for Leythan to sit. The chair clattered and scraped against the floor. Atticus’s shoulders were heavy with the tension settled across them, but he contained his bark of anger – barely.
“Of course, Alpha.” Leythan nodded, the sun winking across his dark brown skin. He kept his gaze low, and brought his hands together in his lap, fingers fiddling. “Who is it?”
Atticus paused. If he spoke her name, he was giving voice to his own lunacy. He’d made his choice – he’d rejected her. He’d lost his chance. But…
But he was the Alpha of the Blood Moon pack. He got what he wanted and, ridiculous as it seemed, he wanted her.
Standing abruptly, Atticus turned towards the window. He surveyed his land, his territory. Losing Lily had weakened him. This was the only way.
“I need you to find Lily Cole.” He paced across his office, glancing only once at Leythan as he spoke. From somewhere Atticus dared not question Leythan had pulled out a notebook and pen, and was scribbling down every word that left his mouth. Sighing, he continued.
“She is of average height for a female wolf. Her hair is turning more blonde with each day spent in the sun. Her eyes are brown, as is her skin – though it’s not as dark as yours, it is darker than mine. She…”
“Yes, Alpha?” Leythan tapped his pen against the paper, the notepad jiggling slightly with the bouncing movement of his leg. Had Atticus not been running off next-to-no sleep, he might have found his excitement endearing. Maybe. As it was, he felt tired just watching him.
Atticus jammed his mouth shut. She wasn’t beautiful; she was necessary.
“She should not be difficult to find. Speak first to Griffin – he will give you more information. Then to Maveln.”
“The Warrior Wolf?”
Atticus nodded tightly. “Her father.”
“Oh. Oh. Yeah, I know Lily. Not well, but I’d definitely recognise her. She never comes with us to fight, does she?”
“No, she never has.” His lip curled. “But she will.”